


Scenes From a (Not-So) Lonely Christmas

by rainbowstrlght



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Holidays, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-22
Updated: 2009-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-13 12:06:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/137176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainbowstrlght/pseuds/rainbowstrlght
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zach thinks he's spending Christmas alone and depressed, but Chris has other ideas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scenes From a (Not-So) Lonely Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> **Beta:** The lovely [zombiefairytale](http://zombiefairytale.tumblr.com/) over at Tumblr. (Thanks, darling! You're a gem. ♥)  
>  **Disclaimer:** If I really knew these guys, I'd make them give up some cookies.  
>  **Disclaimer 2:** I made up the websites, so please don't try them. They probably _are_ pornographic.  
>  **Note:** Originally written for the [Very Pinto Christmas Challenge Table](http://community.livejournal.com/pinto_fic/302820.html) over on LJ.

Zach just wasn't in the mood for Christmas; no two ways about it. The commercials, the holiday music, the shopping – and especially the lawn decorations and house lights – just didn't do anything for him at all.

Correction – didn't make him _happy_ , at all.

Sure, at 8pm on the day before Christmas Eve, everyone's houses were lit up and dazzling in the night as he walked Noah; and he could confess that some of them were very pretty, even sans snow in Silver Lake. But he just couldn't smile at them, and truthfully, there was something in his chest that ached a little.

He just couldn't enjoy any of this. Not at all.

It was a difficult thing to explain. He loved his family, and he loved his friends. He loved the idea of getting together, and he especially loved _giving_ more than _receiving_. So the ache wasn't something he could point to directly. But it wasn't something he could brush off casually, either.

Zach breathed in deeply as he walked Noah past a quaint house at the end of their block. It had a rustic exterior of brick and stucco, with the picture window drawn wide open. There were lawn ornaments of course, but Zach stared at something else, something so intrinsically Hallmark it hurt his heart: A pine tree dressed in lights, and a tall man in a sweater with a young girl in his arms, hanging an ornament.

It was a red glass bulb, right next to a candy cane. And then, she laughed at something he said, and he was smiling at her reaction. The man pointed to some ornaments, and she looked at the star at the top of the tree. She hugged him, and he hugged back, and - Zach could imagine it all. Maybe there was music in the background, or Burl Ives on the TV, or the girl's mother in another room wrapping presents, or -

Zach gulped. He didn't know how long he had been standing there, staring, but when he caught himself he abruptly looked down and marched forward; tugging unnecessarily on Noah's leash.

Well, Zach wasn't a little girl; no matter what Chris might tell you. But it was enviable, just the same.

Truth was, the holidays always felt _half full_. And it was worse with his Mom on a distant tropical island with friends, and Joe deciding to go to his wife's side for festivities this year. Now Christmas was _full empty_ , and he couldn't help it – he couldn't help but think: _They wouldn't do this if Dad were still here._

But Zach was trying not to think about that. He had spent too many nights since Thanksgiving thinking too much on it already, and trying to push it aside. No matter how much he wished it, the holiday spirit just wasn't going to happen for him. He wasn't going to wake up Christmas morning, and be a kid again; dragging his mother and father out of their bedroom to open presents. That time... was past.

He wasn't a kid anymore. And no matter how much he loved his family and friends, Christmas would always feel bittersweet.

Zach turned the key to get inside, and let Noah off the leash; dropping his keys into a bowl next to the door. He had forgotten to leave a light on, but that was okay. His window was drawn open, and some of the Christmas lights from across the street filtered inside; for once not impeded by cars from paparazzi, but instead by families gathering at the nearby houses.

He flopped on his couch, and stared at the ceiling. He was supposed to be a grownup, and he was supposed to have gotten over this – right? It was almost 25 years ago, with this being the twenty-fourth Christmas without his dad. It was supposed to have gotten easier. Time supposedly healed all wounds.

So why did everything still – to use a Chris word, here - _suck_?

Zach sighed and closed his eyes, and willed himself into a nap. Maybe he would sleep through Christmas Eve, and it would be the 26th of December when he woke up.

***

It took him a moment to realize why he was awake. His head felt foggy, but there was a deep rumbling – no, _knocking_ \- somewhere near him.

Oh right. _The door_. Probably the door.

The moment Zach swung his legs off the couch, he could see the light of his cell phone as it vibrated, and a quick glance stated the name he expected. As Zach walked to the door, he answered it.

“ _Are you ever going to let me in, or what?_ ”

Zach grunted as he unlocked the door, and simultaneously hung up the phone and faced Chris – who was _entirely_ too cheerful-looking with a case of beer in one hand, and chips in the other.

“Were you sleeping? Sorry, I should have called first. ” But as expected, Chris just brushed past him into the living room without an answer. It was all polite pretense, anyway. The day Chris observed personal boundaries would be the day hell froze over – or really, LA froze over.

“Do you want to order a pizza? I brought a movie. I’ll put some beer in the fridge – hey, why is it dark? Do you want me to – “

Zach sighed and shut the door.

“ – get some bowls out for the chips? Nah, we can eat out of the bags. Here, let me crack one open for you – “

“ _I’ll_ get it, Chris. Thanks.” Zach was still shuffling around in his nap haze; and while Chris’ babbling was endearing most of the time, his brain just wasn’t prepared to keep up.

Chris had his phone out, and had it already pressed to his ear. _The usual?_ Chris mouthed, and Zach nodded. He wasn’t sure if he was going to eat, anyway.

As Zach opened up two bottles after putting the rest in the fridge, his mind was still on the fence of whether he actually wanted Chris over, anyhow. But, what else was he going to do? He couldn’t turn on the TV, or the radio. He couldn’t go on the Internet for all the ads displaying reminders. And his head wasn’t cognizant enough to _hear_ words, much less read them in a book.

“Hey, you okay, man?” Chris was flipping his phone shut as his eyes squinted, taking in Zach’s face. “I’m really sorry if you didn’t want me over, but – “

“No, it’s okay. I wasn’t doing anything, anyway.”

“Yeah, same.” Chris took an offered bottle, and before he raised it to his lips, he cocked it at Zach. “No parties, huh?”

Zach shook his head as he swallowed. “They were all last weekend.” _And I avoided most of them._

“Yeah, I suppose.” Chris flipped on lights as he brought the chips and his beer to the living room, and tossed the bags on the coffee table before sitting down on the couch. “I had most of my stuff this past weekend, too. I have my parent’s house tomorrow afternoon, but they’re leaving early for Hawaii.”

Zach considered that with another swig. “That sounds… fun.” What was it with Winter holidays and tropical islands, anyhow?

“Well, it’s my dad’s Christmas present to my mom. Guess she was bitching about the cold lately, and she’s always wanted to go.”

“On Christmas?”

Chris shrugged.

“How long will they be there?”

“Until New Years. They’re coming back the Monday after.”

Zach nodded. “How about your sister - Kat?”

“Dropping by tomorrow, but she’s leaving early to take the baby to her in-laws in Seattle. I hear Nathan’s cute.” There was a small smile, but Zach was staring at the bottle between Chris’ knees, with his nails peeling the label off. And while paper fragments normally annoyed the fuck out of Zach, all his mind could process was _Oh. He’s going to be alone on Christmas, too._

“Mom and Joe aren’t around this year, either.”

“Yeah?” Another swig. “Do they normally do that?”

Zach shrugged. “Depends. Since Joe got married, it happens at least every few years.”

Chris nodded. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

They sat in companionable silence, while Zach watched Chris bury the peeled pieces of paper in his palm. He must’ve felt incredibly sentimental, because he cared more about Chris’ quietness than the sanctity of his living space.

Something occurred to him then, and he wondered if he could phrase it delicately; especially with Chris’ eyes so shaded, and his lips drawn in a tight line. But:

“They didn’t think you’d be here this Christmas, did they?”

Chris’ nail stopped scratching at the label, but he didn’t look up. Zach took that as the confirmation he needed, and resisted the urge to hug him.

 _Celebrity status. Sometimes it was a bitch._

He was going to ask if this would be Chris’ first Christmas Day without family, but then the doorbell rang, and Chris jumped to get it.

“You put in the movie;” and he turned quickly for the door.

Zach shrugged. It was just as well. He didn’t want to talk about it, either.

Zach looked at the DVD on his dining room table. Turning it over in his hands, he had to laugh.

“Did you find it?”

Zach nodded, then walked briskly to the DVD player before he lost his nerve. When Zach headed back towards the couch, the sound of Burl Ives singing “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” filled his living room.

Chris had a sheepish grin. “Sorry, it’s my favorite. We can watch something else if you want?”

Zach shook his head. Truth be told, it was his childhood favorite, too. He continued smiling as he found the remote and pressed “play” – then, trying to live a little, he didn’t yell at Chris for wiping his hands on his pants as he took a slice of pizza.

***

The smile stayed. Zach had started watching the movie, but eventually his focus had shifted to Chris - who, while trying very hard _not_ to sing out loud, still wound up moving his lips to the words, anyway. But by the end of the movie, Zach found himself doing similar; and caught Chris’ eye as he did so. Chris grinned.

“I should have brought over _The Nightmare Before Christmas_ , so we could’ve had a marathon of classics.”

“I think I’ll live.” Zach popped the DVD back in its case, and then walked back to the coffee table to set it next to the pizza box. “Besides, what more could I want than Christmas with a side of McCarthyism?”

“Hey, cheap shot! Even Burl Ives knew that Rudolph was _born_ with that red nose, thank you very much.”

“Have you no decency, Chris? We don’t talk about the nose,” and Zach was in the middle of a smirk, when Chris licked the corner of his mouth - his light blue eyes twinkling with laughter, creased at the corners.

It caught Zach’s breath. _Jesus._

But the moment passed too quickly, and Chris’ gaze was back to the label peeling. There was a small mound a paper next to the empty pizza box, along with two beer bottles; and Zach mused it was the movie that quenched the urge to throttle Chris for the mess. And perhaps the not-singing.

He had grabbed a trash bin and had placed it next to the coffee table, when Chris cleared his throat.

“So. _Quinto_. What do you want for Christmas?”

Zach swiped the mound of paper into his palm and shook his head. Chris’ brain went strange places sometimes, and Zach had stopped questioning his propensity for non sequiturs ages ago. But it amused him, nonetheless. “I’ll only tell that to Santa. _Pine_.”

Chris lifted a finger. “Well then, have you bothered to email the guy?”

Zach paused, even though he was in the middle of tilting the pizza box into the trash. Crumbs slid into the bin as he considered. “Um... _no_? But I’ll get _right on that_. I’ve obviously been remiss in keeping up with technology.”

Chris’ face was earnest as he gestured with his hands. “No, seriously - you can! There’s so much crap you can do online, now. Track Santa as he flies in his sleigh across the globe, even.” Chris shook his head and laughed. “But yeah, at this Christmas party at my uncle’s house last Saturday, my cousin was showing me you could email the big guy on his website.”

Zach folded the pizza box in half. “Let me guess: NorthPole.com?”

“Oh no, that’s porn.” Chris grinned. “It’s actually _the_ NorthPole.com.”

Zach laughed. “I stand corrected.”

“Anyway, my cousin dared me, so I did it.”

“You sent an email to _Santa_? Over a _dare_? What did you wish for, a pony?”

“Not telling!”

“Fruitcake?”

“Nah, I have _you_.” Chris winked as Zach scowled, sending his mind into a bender. _I have you._ Zach took a deep breath, prepared with a witty retort, but:

“No seriously, Quinto, you need to do it.” Chris solemnly nodded, and then was already to Zach’s desk in a corner, lifting the screen to his laptop. “You never know with these things.”

Zach put away the trash bin, trying to piece together the fragments of conversation. What the hell was Chris up to, anyway? How did they even get on this annoying topic?

He placed the pizza box and bottles in recycling, and then wandered over to join Chris. “Right, I’m going to send – “ But Chris already had the website pulled up, and Zach sighed.

“I’m going to use your bathroom, but when I get back - I _better_ hear typing.” Chris pointed a finger at him as he walked backwards towards the hall, and then disappeared. Zach sighed again as he turned towards his computer; a blank entry form visible in the midst of an obnoxious holiday background.

“ _Seriously_ ,” Zach muttered, but found his fingers over the keys, anyhow. Leave it to Internet-illiterate Chris to find the one website that would annoy him the most. What were the odds? But despite his hesitancy, his brain clicked through many possibilities, anyway.

If he were honest with himself, and he really _could_ wish for anything, his first choice would always be his dad. To see him, or talk to him, even for a moment – but, _well_. The last time Zach checked (which was never before, really), Santa wasn’t into reanimating corpses (although what an interesting zombie movie that would make... He made a mental note in his head to tell Joe). There was also bringing back his Mom and brother for the holidays, but really – it wasn’t like they _chose_ to abandon Zach at Christmas. They probably had no idea what it did to him, being he never insisted, or let on what he felt. And really, his mother hadn’t had a vacation in the longest time, especially to south of the equator. (Where the fuck was it, again? Cancun?) And Joe’s wife hadn’t seen her family in a while, now. It wouldn’t be fair to want them back.

But life wasn’t fair, really.

Zach shook his head. This wasn’t working out very well. Maybe he should type that he wanted socks (black, crew cut, thank you very much) and call it a day.

Except... Zach pursed his lips, his fingers flying over the keyboard.

> Dear Santa,
> 
> You’re probably some poor guy in customer services at Macy’s reading this, but maybe this will amuse you. (Besides me being a 32-year-old man writing a letter to Santa, of course.)
> 
> What do I *really* want for Christmas? Besides my family to come the f**k home, or my dad to still be around, or a nice pair of black socks that my dog won’t magically find enticing?
> 
> See, I have this best friend. He’s gorgeous, smart as hell, hilarious as all f**k, kind to others, and –- did I mention he’s gorgeous? –- no, he’s *beautiful*. Inside and out.
> 
> And I love him. Of course I love him; insanely much. And I want him. Except Chris (that’s his name) is my amazingly *straight* best friend, who could have any woman he wanted.
> 
> I hear you’re magic. Well, how magic are you?
> 
> But since that’s impossible: How about peace on Earth, and goodwill towards all? That would work, too.
> 
> Thanks for reading, Poor-Hopefully-Not-Homophobic-Services-Rep,
> 
> Zach

“Holy shit, you actually sent something!”

Zach jumped in his seat, and turned his head to see Chris’ face over his shoulder, reading the confirmation screen. _Thank you for writing to Santa. Merry Christmas, and Happy New Year!_

“You told me to.”

“Yeah, but I was expecting you to still be sitting here, picking over your adjectives. _’As I do not believe in materialistic commercial holidays, nor magical men in red suits, I sincerely wish for peace and goodwill towards all men – especially the ones in the magazines under my bed -_ ’”

“Hey!” Zach was out of his seat, with a grinning Chris halfway across the room.

“Okay, just _’World Peace’_ , then! _To be sure._ ”

Zach laughed, in spite of himself. “Such a simple thing, I’m sure Santa can handle it.”

Chris shook his head. “He’s _magic_ , not a miracle man.”

“Wow, pessimistic much?”

“Nah, I have plenty of optimism! Especially considering – “ Chris looked down at his phone, “- that I actually expect you to get up early tomorrow morning.”

Zach narrowed his eyes, almost afraid to ask. “What for?”

“You -” Chris grabbed his shoulders and turned him towards the hallway “- and I are baking _cookies_.”

“In the morning?”

“My parents and Kat are leaving early, remember? I need some perfect-looking sugar cookies before 2pm, Quinto, and _you_ are helping me.”

“W-what the hell for?” They were down the hall, with Zach taking quick, jerky steps as Chris pushed him forward.

“Because it’s fun, that’s why.” They were in his bedroom now, and Chris let go of his shoulders and walked past him towards the bed. It took everything in Zach’s brain to listen to the conversation at this point, as his brain was overloaded with _Oh God, Chris is in my bedroom, in my bedroom, in my bedroom -_

"Zach?”

Zach mentally shook himself, and stared at Chris who was turning back the covers. After a moment, Chris faced him and crossed his arms.

“Look, you wake up earlier for _Heroes_ , I bet.”

“Right. Um - what time, again?”

“Seven.”

Zach gulped. So much for sleeping in, or sleeping through, Christmas Eve. “That’s fine.”

“All right, I’ll call you before I come over.”

They both stared at each other a moment; Chris seeming to look him up and down, his blue eyes wandering. Zach took a deep breath, and tried to conjure the unsexiest thing in his mind’s eye - his grandmother, schoolteachers, the cameramen on set –

Chris’ eyes met his, and Zach gulped again. _His mother_. His mother in a _bikini_.

“Are you just going to stand there, or do I need to undress you myself?”

 _Oh God._ “I was waiting for you to leave.”

Chris sighed. “Well, I _was_ going to tuck you in, but – “

Zach let slip an undignified squeak as he took a step back. “Um, uh – I need to go brush my teeth.”

Chris sat down on the bed, taking Zach’s alarm clock and fiddling with the controls. “All right. Hey, this is 15 minutes fast – “

“On purpose!” But Zach was already racing towards the bathroom; where he hoped to God he hadn’t slammed the door. He leaned against the counter, then looked up at himself in the mirror.

 _Why did he write that damn letter?_ Normally he had stuff like this under control, and didn’t act like some teenaged _girl_. The night had started calmly enough –he had been pleasantly sleeping, in fact. But now Chris was in his bedroom, sitting on his bed –

Zach swallowed. Perhaps if he stayed in the bathroom long enough, Chris would just walk out and go home. But his body obviously had other ideas, as he quickly brushed and flossed, then spat out mouthwash into the sink. _Oh God._

He forced himself to walk out of the bathroom, and back to his room; where the sight of Chris lying in his spot in bed greeted him. Chris’ hands were behind his head, as he stared up at the ceiling; his feet crossed at the ankles, with the top one tapping to an imaginary rhythm.

But Chris suddenly looked over at him, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “Get here, Quinto.”

 _It means nothing, it means NOTHING –_ Zach turned towards his closet. “Um – “

“I won’t look. I _promise_.”

Zach looked over his shoulder to see Chris covering his eyes with one hand, and Zach shook his head.

“Whatever.” He grabbed the nearest sweats and white t-shirt, and quickly changed. When he turned back around, the fingers on Chris’ face shifted, and Zach narrowed his eyes.

“Done, Princess?”

“As if,” Zach said, wishing his brain wasn’t overly inundated with certain images so he could keep up the banter.

Chris jumped out of bed as soon as Zach reached it, and Zach slid under the covers quickly; reveling in the slight warmth left behind. When he laid back, Chris took the edge of the sheets and tucked them under Zach’s chin. “ _There_. Goodnight, sleep tight. Don’t let the Klingons bite.”

“Klingons don’t –” but he felt a hand on his forehead, brushing back hair, and then the quick touch of lips there.

... Did the Earth stop moving? Or was that just him?

“Goodnight, Zach.” And before Zach could see Chris’ face, the bedside lamp was turned off, and Chris was out the doorway – and down the hallway, and out the front door. Zach could hear the hum of the ignition, and Noah jumping at the picture window; then jumping down when Chris’ car pulled out of the driveway, and sped away.

It only took a minute for Noah to saunter in; with his nose touching Zach’s hand for permission. When he jumped onto the edge of the bed, he took a moment to circle before settling at Zach’s feet with a sigh.

Zach sighed himself. He raised a hand to touch his forehead, but - _Oh God._ Would he be able to sleep tonight?

His alarm said _3:32 am_ before he eventually did.

***

He was in a garden. Or, well, maybe it was a park – wherever it was, it was incredibly _green_ , in various hues. There were bright flowers, and dense neon foliage; and he walked forward, with his hands parting the way. He touched ribbed fronds, and could smell the musk of soil, and - was that a slight breeze on his face? He took a deep breath of the fresh air, enjoying it immensely; it was all so _different_ from LA. The sky was so blue – nothing like Chris’ eyes - but it had touches of pink at the horizon, and picturesque clouds.

It was beautiful. It was all so _beautiful_.

Zach looked at everything as he walked, touching flowers as he went along, until he came to a clearing with a stone path; where a bench sat in the middle of it.

Zach stared. There was _someone_ on the bench.

It was an older man, sitting in profile. His skin was pale, with a head of dark hair, tinged gray at the temples. He was leaning against the bench, an arm thrown over the back, when suddenly his head turned, and the man was looking straight at him – his hazel eyes catching Zach’s breath; his smile making something break in Zach’s chest.

It had been twenty-five years, but he would recognize those eyes anywhere.

“Zach? Zachary?”

The voice was deeper than Zach remembered, but it thrummed an empty place inside of himself.

 _Dad._

It took him a moment to will himself forward – life was suddenly in slow motion - but eventually he was standing a few feet away from the bench. Zach could make out the peppered shadow of a beard, and see the individual teeth as his father beamed a bright smile, and stood up to close the distance.

“Zach.” And, God – he could _feel the weight of it_. Not just see the smile, the eyes, but the way it felt to be hugged strongly; strong arms pressing against his shoulders, squeezing him tight. The way it felt different from each person, and this – he wondered if he could memorize it.

“ _Relax_. Come on, sit with me. Tell me how you’ve been.”

Too soon his father pulled away, and Zach exhaled. It all felt too _real_. But he didn’t care how that was happening, just that it _was_. There were certain things in memory that faded over time – the sound of a voice, the curve of a smile, the way a person stood, or sat. And his father sat back down on the bench, with one leg angled on the other knee, and Zach smiled at him. He could memorize hundreds of pages of script, but he suspected there were too many things to memorize about this man.

“So, I hear you like a boy.”

Zach gave a short laugh in surprise. Out of _everything_ to talk about! Besides, his father had died when he was seven – and Zach was _pretty sure_ there were some things that couldn’t be deduced from that age. But his father was grinning at him, so...

“Um, Chris?”

His father nodded. “Tell me about him. Is he a good guy?”

Zach thought a moment. “If you mean he’s kind to others, and helps little old ladies cross the street, and feeds defenseless animals – or, at least, he feeds pizza and chips to Noah when he thinks I’m not looking –“

His father waved a hand. “Does he make you laugh?”

Zach nodded. “Probably not the way he intends, though.”

At that his father leaned forward. Subconsciously, Zach found himself leaning too, until they could whisper to each other.

Instead his father smirked. “Does he drive you crazy?”

Zach leaned back and furrowed his brow. Well, how was he supposed to answer _that_ question? To his _father_ , of all people?

Zach shook his head. “Well... he _is_ making me get up at the crack of dawn tomorrow to make Christmas cookies.”

Apparently that answer was good enough, because his father leaned back, too. He had a knowing look in his eye, perhaps with some amusement, as he patted the seat next to him. Without saying a word, Zach went and sat down.

There was something incredibly blissful in that action. It made his chest constrict. The idea that Zach would be sitting next to his father now, having a conversation; like he always yearned to when he was growing up. Zach was close to his mother of course, and he loved her dearly, but... there were certain _things_ he had never been able to talk about with her. Not that Zach’s father would’ve been perfect, or that Zach would have divulged everything, anyway. But the simple fact that he _could’ve_ \- that his father would’ve _been there_ , if he had lived.

It suddenly all felt too much.

Zach watched his father’s face - watched every line near the eyes, the twitch of the lips, the rise and fall of his chest. Zach took a picture in his mind’s eye, and put it in his heart. He wanted to keep this moment forever.

His father looked at him, as if doing the same. Zach didn’t want to think about finite moments. But then his father looked up at the sky, and his voice was a quiet interruption.

“There are some things in life we take for granted, Zach. Happiness is definitely one of them.”

Zach looked up at the sky, too. “I _am_ happy, Dad. I’m grateful for all my success – I’m seriously the luckiest guy in the world. I promise you, I –“

“Love is another.”

Zach gave a wry smile. “I love my family and friends.”

His father chuckled. “Those things are important, too. But let me tell you, when I met your mother, I would’ve said the same thing.”

Zach looked at him, wondering what that meant. “Was it love at first sight?”

His father tilted his head. “It was more than that. The world didn’t stop turning on its axis, and the sky wasn’t suddenly bright blue, or the grass green – “

“It was winter.”

His father laughed. “That, too. But my point is, when I saw her – I _knew_. But it didn’t shatter my world, and it didn’t color everything in rose-tinted glasses - those things are best left for the movies.” His father grinned. “Things were just like they were before, actually. Except... now it felt like I was better _prepared_. You know, to face everything. The _world_. Because I finally found my best friend. Maybe someone who knew me better than myself.”

Zach furrowed his brow. “I have a best friend. And I already know who I am.”

His father nodded. “That’s good. He shouldn’t have to tell you that. What it’s all about is someone who knows you, and loves you for who you are.”

“That’s great Dad, but –“

“So you see, it wasn’t ‘love at first sight’ with your mother. It was more like ‘a deep camaraderie at first sight’. That grew over time. With an acceptance. _That_ was comfortable. It felt... it felt like I finally found _home_.” His father smiled. “Your mother, and both you boys, always felt like home to me.”

Zach couldn’t breathe for a moment, but his father kept talking.

“Sure, that all lead to love. The romantic stuff is all well and good – and your mother is a _very_ beautiful woman.” His father gave a wistful sigh. “But it’s beyond all of that. You don’t need all of that. Life just suddenly isn’t the same. And strangely, that winds up being okay.”

Zach looked down at the ground. He wasn’t sure what to make of that. It sounded horribly _clichéd_. He had been in love before – hell, he was in love _now_. But he couldn’t say that any of his boyfriends had known him better than himself. And Chris _certainly_ didn’t know –

“It’ll be okay. I promise.”

Zach looked at his father, whose hand had moved over to squeeze his. Although Zach wasn’t sure why, he found himself agreeing - _believing_. He needed to.

God, how could Zach live life without this? Without his father squeezing his hand when he doubted? Or sitting next to him to listen? Or giving advice?

But his father’s hand had gone back to the bench, with the other motioning around them. “The mood is right. The spirit’s up.”

Zach narrowed his eyes, but looked around. “I... guess so?”

“We’re here tonight, and that’s enough.”

Zach blinked, as his father’s hand was now tapping to an imaginary rhythm. “Sure –“

“Simply, _having_ , a wonderful Christmastime!”

“What -?”

“SIMPLY, HAVING – “

***

 _“- A WONDERFUL CHRISTMASTIME!”_

Zach bolted out of bed, his head turning back and forth for the – his fist reached out, smashing the top of the alarm clock.

“ _THE PARTY’S ON, THE FEELING’S HERE_ –“

Zach was smashing repeatedly at every button he could remember, the volume so loud he was sure the neighbors were –

“ _THAT ONLY COMES THIS TIME OF YEAR_ – “

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!” He pulled the alarm towards him with the only instinct of _smash it, douse it, set it on fire_ -

“ _SIMPLY, HAVING_ – “

Zach yanked the cord and threw it across the room; hearing a satisfying _SMACK_ as it hit against a wall in the welcome silence.

Zach sighed. That had been a perfectly good alarm clock.

He pushed Noah’s nose away with a hand, and tried desperately to figure out why he was awake - besides obviously to kill Chris. He looked over for the time – rolled his eyes for thinking the alarm was still there - then reached for his phone as the face of it lit up.

Speak of the devil.

“ _Good morning, Sunshine._ ”

Zach glared down at the phone, and then: “I hate you.”

“ _Come on Zach, it’s only six-thirty. I wanted to make sure you had time to shower, or walk Noah, or - whatever._ ”

Zach rubbed his eyes and grunted.

“ _Well, this was_ going _to be a surprise Quinto, but – I’m buying coffee?_ ”

Zach blinked.

“ _A grande?_ ”

Zach grunted again as he pulled back the covers. He would kill Chris _after_ he grabbed the coffee.

“ _But before that I need to hit the grocery store. Oh, and ask if you have any cookie sheets._ ”

Zach was _so_ not awake, as he could’ve sworn –

“ _Okay, I’ll take that as a ‘no’._ ”

“I can’t believe that you know those exist.”

“ _Quinto, my sugar cookies are legendary. Partially due to the aerated surface -_ ”

Zach yawned, stumbling to the bathroom; almost tripping over Harold as he half-listened.

“ _\- I also have saran wrap, paper plates and Tupperware – Okay Zach, you can stop the heavy breathing._ ”

“I think my _mom_ uses Tupperware, Chris.”

“ _Did she leave any at your house?_ ”

Zach shook his head before he remembered he was on the phone. “I don’t know.”

“ _Well, look for some. Oh, and I forgot to ask last night – what’s your favorite Christmas cookie?_ ”

Zach shook his head again. “I don’t have a favorite.”

“ _What?_ ”

Zach waved a hand in frustration. “I don’t know! Um - _sugar cookies_. Probably.”

“ _But I’m already making those!_ ”

Zach rolled his eyes.

“ _Okay, okay, fine. I’ll just make a general assortment of stuff. I’m – I’m at Whole Foods now, so call me if you think of anything?_ ”

Zach had a hand on his hip in front of the bathroom mirror. “Sure, Chris.”

“ _See you in a half-hour, then._ ”

Zach grunted, then hung up the phone. Looking at the dark circles under his eyes, it took every ounce of willpower to not go crawling back into bed.

But Noah was at the bathroom door with an expectant look on his face. And after washing, dressing, and grabbing a leash, Zach figured it would be best to stay friends with Noah; who would surely help with digging and burying a dead body.

***

Walking Noah was better than coffee - almost. Even if it were dark out some mornings, the air and exercise tended to clear his head of the fogginess from sleep. Which Zach definitely needed this morning, in particular.

In the entire twenty-five years since his dad’s death, he had never dreamed of him – or at least, _remembered_ dreaming of him. Zach realized that part of his grogginess was probably from not wanting to leave that state of dreaming, to try to remember every single detail – the voice, what he had said, how he had looked – but mostly how he had _felt_.

Zach swallowed. The dream had felt too quick, too fleeting to sensate in reality. There had been a hug – a squeeze of the hand? They had been in a garden, too. Where his father had given advice. On what, exactly? Friendship? His mother? Zach shook his head. There _must_ be a way to remember. But all he kept coming up with was a _blank_ ; like film sliced poorly, or fading in and out -

Noah sniffed a tree, as Zach tried to put the pieces together. Although he only had snippets, he couldn’t bring himself to be disappointed. After all, the dream was better than nothing, right? As aggravating as it might be to faintly remember it at the edge of consciousness, it was better than never having dreamed at all. To imagine a hug, at least – to _imagine_ his father’s voice -

None of it had been real. Right? But with the mind, did that really matter?

As they rounded a corner towards home, Noah picked up the pace. They were in the back alley, which was usually safe – but Zach looked around for paparazzi. Then he realized that there was a car in his back driveway, and a body close to it.

Chris saw them first and grinned. “Happy Christmas Eve, Zach!”

Zach tried a smile. “Same to you.”

“Here, help me with these.” Chris grabbed a stack of cookie sheets from his back seat, and handed them off to Zach, who then placed them under his arm. Zach was more focused on the cardboard holder of two Starbucks coffees on the roof of the car; which Chris also handed off.

“I’ll bring these inside and come back out to help you.”

“Nah, it’s just two bags.” And with that Chris had them in his arms, and was shutting the door with his hip. “By the way, you’re a big, dirty liar.”

Zach balanced the cup holder as he fished for his keys. “Oh?”

“Don’t give me that. Joe –“ and they were inside, with Noah following them happily to the dining room, “- informed me that you like these things called _haystacks_. Which are apparently Chinese noodles dipped in melted chocolate or something. I’ve never had one, but they sound fucking delicious.”

Zach placed the coffee on a counter, and then turned to stare. “You called _my brother_?”

“Hell yeah I did. I wasn’t getting answers from you, was I?” Chris unpacked a bag of groceries, and then folded it before unpacking another. “Just be glad I didn’t have your mother’s number.”

“Thank God for small favors.”

“Hey, you’re getting _haystacks_.” He folded another bag. “Or, well – half the haystacks. Your brother drives a hard bargain.”

Zach snorted. “Not surprised.” He took the folded bags from Chris, and handed back the other coffee. As he turned around from tucking the bags away, he saw Chris fiddling with an iPod in one hand, and his kitchen radio with the other.

“Why are you manhandling my radio?”

“We need music.”

Zach groaned. “Please don’t tell me – “

“It’s not Christmas music. Honest. Or well, _centered_ around Christmas.”

Zach raised an eyebrow.

“Trust me, you’ll know it.”

“Right.”

“I’d be surprised. Otherwise I’ll have to take your official Gay card away.”

Zach was about to retort when Chris managed to find the right station to sync with his receiver, and a familiar voice drifted through. As Zach tried to place it, Chris turned up the volume, his lips mouthing the words. He set his iPod on the counter, and then - leaning back to faux-frame Zach’s face with his fingers - sang, “ _Tell the folks at home, what you’re doing Roger._ ”

Zach laughed as it clicked, and he sang back, “ _I’m writing one great song -_ ”

Chris grinned. “ _The phone rings!_ ”

“ _Aww – Saved!_ ”

Zach smiled back, because they were.

***

Three things surprised Zach; although if he had really thought about it, they wouldn’t have, at all.

First, Chris made _spectacular_ sugar cookies. How a cookie could be divine, Zach couldn’t tell you - but Chris was practically _Martha Stewart_ , for crying out loud. Evenly baked, perfectly shaped - _immaculate_ \- Chris handed them over to Zach while wearing an apron and oven mitts; the picture of domesticity, or June Cleever.

Zach gawked; while he burned his tongue on every batch, and tried to not fuck up the icing.

Because see, while Chris had _bragged_ about his cooking on the press tour, the boy looked like he wouldn’t be able to maneuver an Easy Bake oven, much less a rolling pin and flour sifter. But after dumping a plastic baggie of various cookie cutters on the dining room table, Chris had spread out a handful of family recipes on a counter top: Gingerbread men, ginger snaps, snickerdoodles, thumbprint cookies, peanut blossoms, Russian tea cakes – along with a few that scared Zach; like peanut brittle (which Chris brought a candy thermometer for) and ribbon candy (which had a silicone mat and heat-resistant gloves – what the fuck? “This feels too much like Science, Chris.”)

But later, Chris made his mint-chocolate fudge recipe; which, if Zach hadn’t been in love with the man before, would have cinched the deal.

“God Chris, I’m going to get fat.” Chris had just popped a piece of fudge in his open, mocking mouth.

Chris grinned wickedly. “Well, it’s Christmas – you’re _allowed_ to get fat!” And with a twinkle in his eyes, Chris armed himself with a spatula, as Zach aimed a spoonful of cookie dough – but rethought better of, as he knew _he’d_ have to clean it up (or Noah would, himself.) Looking at the mess they’d made already, it was a wonder that Zach _hadn’t_ fainted. He prayed his dishwasher wouldn’t give out.

Meanwhile, Chris was dishing cookies evenly onto various paper plates and into Tupperware containers; spread out like potted plants throughout his kitchen and dining room. Chris sang merrily, sometimes sliding back and forth with his socks on the hardwood floors, and sometimes sneaking a cookie to Noah (which thankfully didn’t contain chocolate, or else Zach would have to say the gig was up.) When Zach would turn around to see a proffered hand to his dog, Chris would cover by grabbing Noah’s chin and singing instead. “ _Every time I look at you I don’t understand – why you let the things you did get so out of hand! You’d have managed better if you’d had it planned – why’d you pick such a backwards time in such a strange land?_ ”

Which, that the was second thing about Chris: He was actually a _decent_ singer. They alternated lines for the _RENT_ soundtrack, but Zach prompted Chris to sing the most. He didn’t have a booming voice, and obviously no professional training; but it was gritty and expressive, and pleasant to the ear. Even when he squeaked the high notes for “La Vie Boheme” – which Noah _harrumphed_ , and gave Chris a _look_ for – Zach didn’t mind. Chris made singing _fun_ , which gave Zach an excuse to join in (not that he needed much of one – shyness? _Hell no_.)

It made him remember an MTV interview, and his own rousing rendition of the “Fraggle Rock” theme song, while Chris did “Different Strokes”. Zach smiled. The boy could definitely _sing_.

Which Chris had also done to his cat, a few times. “ _You have to understand the way I am, Mein Herr. A tiger is a tiger, not a lamb, Mein Herr -_ ”

And okay, that was the third thing. Which Zach would unequivocally claim he had _no_ clear hint of, whatsoever.

After _RENT_ had ended, Chris had motioned with a flour-clubbed hand to his iPod. “Pick something.”

Zach wasn’t sure what he would have guessed, but Broadway musicals would _not_ have been it. Sure he scrolled through various metal hair bands, The Beatles, and some popular hits (“Lady GaGa? Britney Spears? _Backstreet Boys_? Seriously?”), but he hadn’t expected _The Phantom of the Opera_ , _Jesus Chris Superstar_ , _Godspell_ , _Hair_ \- or his own heart skipping a beat at _Wicked_ and _Chicago_.

However, as Chris was bent over spritzing the last of the cookie batter, he was humming the “Scherzo” interlude to _West Side Story_ \- Chris’ choice, after Zach’s _The Nightmare Before Christmas_. Zach shook his head, and wondered if anyone would believe him unless he had surreptitiously recorded the rousing rendition of “I Feel Pretty” (which Chris had pulled off singing to him, and had cajoled Zach to sing along).

But now the last of the cookies were in the oven, and Chris wiped a brow and looked at his cell phone. “Shit, it’s one o’clock.”

They both looked over at the sink, which still had a few dishes that the dishwater couldn’t hold (or that Chris had freaked out about. “Don’t submerge the cookie sheets!”)

Zach waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve just been watching all day.”

Chris shook his head. “No, no! You _mixed_. And _poured_. And – “

“Ate too many cookies.”

Chris gestured the equivalent of _What can you do?_ , and then looked towards the dining room table; stacked with Tupperware, and lined with rows of saran-wrapped plates. He seemed to hesitate a moment, and then: “If it’s not too forward, I, uh -brought clothes to change into – “

“Not at all. Towels are in the bathroom closet, if you need to take a shower, too.”

Chris grinned. “Thanks.” He walked to the back door towards his car, but then nodded towards the table. “You should take some of those plates to your neighbors.”

Zach narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

Chris rolled his own. “Gee, I don’t know – for some reason I thought you actually _liked_ your neighbors.” He then chuckled softly as he opened the door and went out – leaving Zach to contemplate a few things.

First: Chris, in a matter of minutes, was going to be naked in his shower – or at least half-naked, as he got dressed.

Second: The plates had an equal distribution of the fudge, and Zach was wondering how tacky (or noticeable) it would be to sneak a few extra pieces.

Third: Chris was going to be _naked_. In his _house_.

As he heard Chris shut the bathroom door, he ran out the front with three plates; precariously balancing them on his arms.

He went to the neighbor on his right, first. As he rang the doorbell, he forced a smile – which turned into a genuine grin as he greeted his elderly neighbor, and she seemed pleasantly surprised.

“I thought you were one of those atheists!” she exclaimed, and Zach shook his head - although to be fair to her, he _never_ outwardly celebrated anything. So he sweetly smiled, wished her a happy holiday, and went to the other side of his house.

Those neighbors weren’t home (they had young kids, if Zach recalled correctly). But he looked around, and spotted their mailbox. It was a large, wooden thing, with two entrances; painted green. He didn’t think it would hurt the cookies any, so he carefully slid the plate inside; folding the plate edges. He prayed to the saran wrap and cookie gods for safe passage, and then went back to the front of his house. He had one plate left.

Zach looked around. With a trained eye, he saw a small car down the road with the window rolled down. No camera lens peered out of it, but Zach recognized the vehicle from this past summer.

He walked up to the car and gently knocked on the window, spooking the snoring paparazzo.

Zach smiled sweetly, and held up the plate of cookies – sans fudge. “Merry Christmas!”

Perhaps his smile bordered murderously saccharine, as the man looked confused.

Zach tried again. “They’re not poisoned, I swear.” He lifted a corner of the saran wrap, and bit into a cookie. “At least take one?”

As the man cautiously took, and bit, into a ginger snap, his eyes lit up. “Wow.”

Zach nodded. “I’ve already eaten, like, a dozen.”

“My mom used to make these.” As the photographer finished the cookie and stared at his fingertips, Zach rewrapped the plate; and handed it off through the car window.

“Merry Christmas, and Happy New Year.” And before Zach could hear a protest, he waved and walked back home.

***

When he got back, Zach set to bagging containers, plates, and all of the cleaned utensils; until Chris emerged from the bathroom, buttoning his shirt.

Zach fiddled with the bags until Chris’ hands pulled a handle closer to peer inside.

“Dude, you get to keep at _least_ half of these.”

Zach shook his head vehemently, but Chris interrupted. “You get this bag, and – “ Chris wickedly smiled as he pulled out a container from the other, which Zach _knew_ had a batch of fudge. “- _this_.”

“You know, you don’t need to sabotage my good looks to get all the action roles in Hollywood.”

Chris laughed. “Nah. I just...” Chris shrugged. “I like to see you happy.”

They stared at each other a moment, while Zach willed his heart to stop _speed racing_. Eventually Chris looked down, and then over at a bag, and then pulled out his cell.

“Oh God – it’s 1:45.” He quickly rounded up his things, and then – quicker than Zach would have guessed – pulled Zach into a quick hug and kissed his cheek. “Thank you so much for helping me, and doing dishes. You’re a lifesaver.”

Zach nodded absently, while Chris grabbed his bags of supplies. When he was at the door, he looked back over his shoulder.

“Um, tomorrow...”

Zach raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, if – if you’re not busy…”

Zach almost laughed. “Chris, you _know_ I’ll be here.”

Chris grinned. “All right. Then… I’ll see you in the morning!” And with that the back door closed, and Zach had to will himself _not_ to watch Chris load his car, and leave.

But with the container of fudge, and peering between the slits in the blinds, Zach did exactly that – wondering for at least the hundredth time when he had turned into an anxious, teenaged girl.

***

After Zach had cleaned the kitchen (which had dangerously bordered a disaster area), wrapped his present for Chris – _and_ hid the remainder of the fudge and cookies in a cupboard – Zach fell onto his couch, and wondered what to do. He watched the Christmas lights from across the street again, and sighed.

It was Christmas Eve. And he wasn’t depressed - _yet_. So his mind took over; assured in sending him there.

At first, he fretted over the present he had for Chris. He hadn’t been sure of what to get – Chris loved books, but didn’t buy them. He loved sports, but Zach had no idea what he could possibly use. Anything else seemed way too extravagant, or impersonal – tickets to a play, or a La Mill gift card. He had wavered on making a mix CD, since Chris loved music – but he had feared that Chris wouldn’t like any of his favorites, or worse, that the personal gift would make Chris uncomfortable. (Zach’s taste in music was especially dear to him, and it felt too revealing at the outset.)

But what he _did_ settle on felt entirely too personal, as well. After the press tour, Joe had showed him copies of photos he had taken a long the way. His brother was a gifted photographer, and it showed: Moments of the entire cast – and even of himself – were expertly, and sneakily, captured; candids giving off the excitement and camaraderie that Zach remembered between all of them, especially while filming. Without thinking it through, Zach had ordered a set of everything. Then on a rainy day a month ago, he had found the time to put it all into an album; with labels, and clippings from foreign newspapers, and menus of hotel restaurants they had eaten at – basically, ephemera that Zach naturally collected on vacations. And while Chris had seemed just as excited about the tour, Zach worried that Chris already _had_ most of this stuff; or would have collected all the memorabilia, if he had wanted it in the first place.

But it was all Zach could come up with, and so he tried to push the doubts out of his mind. He just hoped it wouldn’t be awkward tomorrow, or seemed too little with whatever Chris might have in mind. Which, _also_ thinking about drove Zach batty. If this morning were any indication of how Chris operated, he wondered if he should fear tomorrow.

Which – did he really _want_ company tomorrow? Zach wasn’t depressed yet (even with mild anxiety), but the night was still young. What would he be like when he woke up?

That in itself answered the question for him. It also surprised him. If anyone could cheer Zach up – besides his mother and brother – it would be Chris. Even if Chris had no idea about his dead dad, he had cookie-making abilities. And smile-inducing abilities. And heart-palpitating abilities - _among other things_.

Zach turned away from the window; his nose pressing against a couch cushion. He breathed deeply (he really needed to steam clean these), and he wondered what his dad would think of Chris. Which lead to thinking about the dream, again.

There had been a garden. And he could remember the hug precisely – how his dad’s arms had wrapped around his shoulders, and how hard he had been pressed to his chest. The warmth of it, the assurance of it – even down to the fact that Zach _knew_ his dad was taller, but not by much.

Zach smiled. He would leave it there, with that fuzzy feeling; and try to carry it with him until tomorrow.

***

Zach was reading scripts in his bedroom (not successfully – was this movie a comedy or a horror film?) when his phone vibrated, then calmed soon after.

He opened the text.

> b sure you leave some cookies for santa!

Zach smirked. He started his own text – “I suppose I should leave carrots for” – but it was interrupted by another buzz.

> and carrots for the reindeer!

Zach sat up, carefully considering his reply.

> I assure you that as a 32-year-old man with an excellent memory, I would remember the carrots.

Zach smiled as he hit send, and then got up to make that plate. He even found himself humming as he set the plate out – with a covered glass of milk (he assumed “Santa” would understand how Harold would devour it, otherwise) – when his phone vibrated again.

> and write ur letter to put next 2 cookies.

If Zach weren’t in such a good mood, he’d be appalled.

> I already wrote my letter TO Santa, thank you very much. I recall it keenly, as you mocked me for doing so yesterday. As for the cookies, I am generous enough to leave Santa more than two.

It didn’t take long for a reply.

> Smart-ass. I mean it, Quinto. This is a different letter; it’s one of gratitude. If you don’t do it, I’m taking my cookies back.

Zach actually gasped.

> You wouldn’t dare.

He gulped when his phone went off.

> try me

What would it hurt, anyway?

> Are you writing one?

Several minutes passed, and Zach settled onto his couch. His eyes were tired of reading anyway, and a movie would help him sleep. He was scrolling through his digital cable guide when his phone lit up.

> yes. i’ll drop it off 2nite.

Zach was amazed that Chris would bother with an apostrophe, but not full words and capitalization.

> Okay.

With a sigh, he got up and dashed a quick note:

> Thanks Santa for stopping by. I'm grateful for the amazing friends and family I had with me this year. I hope these delectable cookies that Chris made will properly express my gratitude. And, oh yeah –- Chris REALLY wants a pony and some fruitcake. I’m sure of it.
> 
> XOXOXO, Zach

Sneaking a sugar cookie, he went back to the couch; and channel-surfed until he found “Love, Actually” on basic cable. With Hugh Grant singing “Good King Wescenlas” in the background, Zach fell into a deep sleep.

***

Zach blinked rapidly, suddenly aware of soft noises. There was still light from the TV, and Noah was shuffling and jumping near the kitchen.

“Shhh, Noah! Don’t wake Zach! I’m trying to be sneaky.”

Zach smiled.

“Here, have this. Merry Christmas.”

Zach heard canine teeth on something hard, and then nails click against the hardwoods as Noah obviously ran away.

There was a lot of rustling, and then of glass crashing on the table.

“Shit, shit, shit!”

Zach rolled off the couch before thinking it through; but the sight he encountered was worth the bullshitting he’d need to go through to cooperate: A “man” in a red suit and white beard was at his dining room table, using a corner of his red suit to wipe up the spilled milk, while simultaneously holding the note Zach had written at arm’s length.

The “man” looked startled as he noticed Zach, and dropped the corner of his suit to adjust his beard.

“Ho, ho... ho.”

The voice was uncharacteristically low, and Zach had to fight a smile as he grabbed a towel.

“Let me help, _Santa_.” He helped to mop the spilled milk, being careful to make sure it didn’t spread to a small pine tree that was by the plate of cookies; miraculously unaffected.

“Why, thank you... Zachary. You have, uh, obviously been a good boy this year.”

Zach smirked as Santa looked around, then quickly grabbed a cookie, and bit into it. “Your friend, uh, Chris makes great cookies.”

“I know. I hear it has something to do with the aerated technology of his cookie sheets.”

Santa nodded vigorously, and Zach couldn’t help but smile. Santa was honestly trying to hide a large, red velvet bag behind his back, with a ginger snap half-hanging out of his mouth. The room carried some sounds from the living room TV, but mostly it was _munch, munch, munch_.

“Uh – Rudolph will enjoy the carrots.”

Zach raised an eyebrow. “Where’s Rudolph, now?”

“The driveway.”

Zach wondered if he should look, for shits and giggles, but decided on a different tactic. “How did you get in?”

"... Back door.”  
Zach nodded. “More practical than a chimney.”

“Yeah. You don’t have a, uh, fireplace.”

Zach gave an aggrieved sigh. “I’m terribly sorry, Santa. I’m in the middle of remodeling.”

Santa shuffled his feet. “That’s okay... Zachary. I, uh, can open doors.”

Zach nodded solemnly. “A practical skill to have.”

Santa shifted nervously, then looked towards the living room. “So, why were you sleeping on the couch?”

Zach shrugged. “I was waiting for a friend to show up.”

Santa paused, considering; then, “Well, I’m sure he’s okay. Your friend Chris, right? He just – uh – _forgot_. Fell asleep on his own couch.”

Zach frowned. “Maybe I should call him, and make sure he’s okay – “

“Nah – no! I was already there. He’s _fine_. I promise.” Santa was gesturing with his hands, and then put one on his hip. “So, since he’s okay - _you_ should go to bed. In an _actual_ bed.”

Zach put a finger to his chin to contemplate, but then sighed. “ _Okay_. I suppose you are a busy guy, and have better things to do than to eat the cookies of a lonely man in his thirties.”

He walked forward slowly, with Santa’s eyes growing wider by the moment, until Zach bent down and kissed him lightly on the cheek, and whispered, “Thank you, Santa. Merry Christmas.”

He smiled as he turned away, walking through the kitchen, and then to a hallway towards his room; feeling the walls for balance and guidance. Once he reached his bed, he realized that Noah was gnawing on a chunk of rawhide; which always created the worst mess, but Zach couldn’t find it in himself to care, for he was smiling way too much.

He stripped and changed into sleepwear; hearing faint sounds of items shifting and shuffling, as he got ready for bed. Zach decided not to press his luck with brushing his teeth – maybe once Santa left, he would – but for now, he was going to clear away the scripts he left before, and go to bed.

He fell asleep instantaneously; although he heard faint rustlings throughout the night.

***

Zach wasn’t sure what woke him up. There was natural light pooling into his room, and for a moment, he looked around, taking in his surroundings.

That’s when he realized why he woke up: Noah was excited about something, and tap-dancing against the hardwood floors of the hallway and living room. Zach groaned – Noah wasn’t _barking_ , so obviously it was Chris, or someone Zach knew. He flipped back the covers, and went to roll out of bed when his eyes caught the window for one last glance and –

Snow. There was snow drifting outside his bedroom window. Appearing light and fluffy in spots, and hard and chunked with ice in others, it was falling steadily. But after a minute a large chunk of ice went _thunk_ against his window, startling him. Tips of a hand briefly appeared before it rescinded – obviously thinking better of it, and letting the ice chunk succumb to gravity.

Zach grinned.

He stood up and quickly walked down the hallway. He could only imagine what the hell was going on, especially since he lived near Hollywood. When he opened the front door, and peeked around the frame, he saw Chris behind a large machine, which was blowing _lots_ of white fluff.

Chris turned around. Instead of appearing chagrined at being caught, he clapped his hands together, and then reached down, turning the machine off.

“Merry Christmas, Zach!” A huge smile lit his friend’s face, and Zach couldn’t help but return it.

“Christopher Pine, please tell me what on Earth you’re up to.”

Chris was also smiling with his eyes now, as he walked towards Zach. “My dad knew someone with a snow machine, so I borrowed it. It blows on ‘dusting’, ‘sleet’, and ‘blizzard’. I figured ‘dusting’ was sufficient.”

Zach shook his head, and chuckled as he lead Chris back inside. “I’m sure that’s what they use in Pittsburgh.”

“Oh yeah. Just to fuck around with you guys.” Chris closed the door behind him, and Zach heard it click, but then – no more talking. Which, considering Chris, was extremely odd.

Zach turned around to consider his friend, and saw a shocked expression on his face. Eventually Zach followed his gaze, and saw what surprised him: Zach’s house was covered in garlands, lights, and tinsel; almost from top to bottom. It smelled lovely – real pine and peppermint strong in the air. At the same time, they both looked towards the dining room table, which had received the same treatment; with the miniature pine tree covered in more silver tinsel, the backs of chairs draped in garlands, and two red Christmas stockings propped near the empty plate of cookies. When they got closer, the note Zach had written was placed between, with a new handwritten message:

> Dear Zachary,
> 
> While I do appreciate the gratitude (and your friend Chris’ ‘delectable’ cookies), please know that it is a testament to how wonderful YOU are that you have such ‘amazing’ friends and family. While I can perform magic one night out of the year, no magic is greater than love. That is something you are surrounded by, and possess every single day of the year.
> 
> If you look around you, you may find you already have one of your dearest wishes. Remember, ‘family’ is who you make it; and you may find they are closer than you think.
> 
> Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to You Too, Zachary.
> 
> \-- Santa
> 
> PS: Is a pony practical in LA? And considering your friend’s wonderful baking, I doubt he wants one of my frozen bricks AKA fruitcakes. Perhaps you should try asking him, instead of assuming, what he would like for Christmas this year? It might surprise you.

When Zach finished reading, he looked up. He saw that Chris was staring at everything with wide eyes, and then at Zach himself.

“ _Wow_.” It was a reverent whisper, and Zach narrowed his eyes.

While Chris was an excellent actor, Zach had the intuitive sense that he was _not_ acting, now. Chris seemed genuinely stunned, and then suspicious of Zach.

Chris pointed. “Did you...?”

Zach shook his head. “I caught ‘Santa’ last night, so I assume this is him.”

Chris shook his own head vehemently. “This isn’t me, Zach. I didn’t – “ he gestured towards the table, “ – you really didn’t do the stockings?”

Zach looked at them. They had both their names stitched at the top, and appeared to be stuffed with candy. His gaze shifted towards the other end of the table, where he realized two smaller stockings were perched – one of which appeared to have been riffled through already, as a catnip mouse was dangling precariously off the side of the table; its tail caught between two oak eaves. Zach smiled – the little stockings even said, “Noah” and “Harold”.

Zach started laughing, and when he glanced back at Chris, the younger man looked anxious, and appeared to be watching Zach carefully.

“God, Chris – I don’t know! I guess – “ and he was wheezing with laughter, now, “ – I guess a big fat guy in a suit broke into my house, bribed my dog and cat, and didn’t take _any_ of my electronics!”

At the same time, they peeked into the living room. The TV was still there – along with his laptop, stereo, and DVD collection.

Zach threw up his hands in defeat, and walked back into the dining room. He grabbed both of their stockings, and gave Chris his. While Chris didn’t look assured, Zach’s ease (or craziness) with the situation seemed to be rubbing off, for Chris’ shoulders relaxed as he took his sock.

The top was layered with candy canes – which Zach took advantage of, as he suddenly realized his mouth tasted like ass – and then chocolates. Further down, he felt fuzziness, and grasped it with his fingertips: It was a black pair of crew socks. He looked over at Chris, and saw a pair of athletic, white socks in his hands. They stared at each other, and then Chris laughed.

“Dude, I totally asked Santa for socks.”

“Out of all the things in the world, you asked for _socks_?”

“Well – I like socks?” Chris set the socks next to his candy, and then dug further – where he pulled out a folded sheet of paper.

Zach reached into his own stocking and did the same, also finding a folded sheet. Chris seemed as puzzled as he was, so Zach unfolded his and started reading:

> Dear Santa,
> 
> Hi! How are you? I know you are a busy guy, and a 29-year-old movie star shouldn’t be writing to you and bugging you, but I think I DO have one thing I wish for more than anything for Christmas. Hopefully I’ve been good enough to deserve it, but here it goes:
> 
> I want my best friend. The amazingly talented, funny, gorgeous, smart, and kind Zach; who could have any man in the world that he wanted, but whom I’m crazy in love with. I don’t know what I ever did to gain his trust and friendship, but he is one of the most amazing people I know; and I really wish I knew him better.
> 
> But –- since you’re probably some poor customer service guy reading this, and I haven’t heard Santa being able to perform miracles: White socks would be great, too.
> 
> Thanks Santa, you’re awesome.
> 
> Merry Christmas,  
> Chris

Zach looked up to see Chris still reading his piece of paper, and Zach’s stomach plummeted: If he had Chris’ letter, than Chris must have –

He started laughing again, and leaned against the table. _Oh God_. He was going to _lose it_. On Christmas, of all days. He was finally going to crack – he was dreaming of his father, believing in Santa, and now his (supposedly) straight best friend was apparently in love with him!

None of it could be real. Everything at once? No way. He was obviously hallucinating; his subconscious drudging up things he wished for the most, and playing them out like a movie.

His stomach hurt at that, and a part of him wanted to cry; but when he heard paper fold again, he turned his head to see if Chris was disgusted with him, or even _there_. Instead, Chris was staring at him, seeming to echo everything except for one small difference: His hand was darting forward, and Zach could feel it on the back of his neck as he stared into the most beautiful blue eyes, and then - he felt the softest press of lips against his own.

 _Oh God._ Now he didn’t want to wake up. Chris, the man he's wanted practically since the day he saw him, was _kissing_ him – chaste and close-mouthed at first, but Zach opened his lips, and their tongues met in the middle.

Zach closed his eyes, and touched the sides of Chris’ face - his fingers sliding from his ears, down to his neck and shoulders. His skin was so soft, but – he wrapped his arms around Chris’ shoulders and pulled him closer – he wanted to feel the solid body against him; he wanted to hold so tightly and never let go.

Chris’ hand was in his hair, with the other on his hip. Zach groaned, which caused the hand in his hair to tug, and the body to press him against the edge of the table. Their bodies _hummed_ ; and Zach felt his bloodstream convert to liquid diamonds before Chris pulled away for air.

He saw spots behind his eyes, and Zach almost expected a distant alarm to go off somewhere. The last few days would just be a wonderful dream, and he would be alone on Christmas, still dreaming of kissing Chris.

But when Zach blinked and regained his vision, he saw that Chris had a smile that stretched as wide as it could go; with the weight of his body pressed against him warm and _definitely_ real. Blue eyes danced with glee, and Zach reminded himself to breathe – if only he could make Chris look like that all the time, happier than Zach had ever seen anyone; as if all Chris wanted was to be holding Zach at this very moment, gazing up at him.

Chris cupped Zach’s chin. “Merry Christmas, Fruitcake.”

Zach snorted. “We just kissed for the first time, and you’re insulting me?”

Chris shrugged. “But Santa’s right. My fruitcake _is_ wonderful.” Chris winked and kissed Zach on the nose, but – his eyes catching something – looked up. Chris laughed, and pointed.

Zach looked directly above. Sure enough, the jolly bastard had hung mistletoe. Zach laughed and pulled Chris towards him, and they kissed again – Zach relishing the right to do so; relishing it by kissing and kissing and kissing.

Chris broke away. “I guess Santa wasn’t taking any chances.”

And God, Zach couldn’t stop smiling. All he wanted to do was kiss Chris, with his amazing lips; and they did. But eventually Chris unwound himself, and raised a hand between them.

“I have your present!” He reached behind them to the small tree – drowning in tinsel, really – and handed it to Zach. Zach placed it back on the table.

“Let me grab yours.” He quickly walked to his bedroom, partially wondering if Chris would still be there when he got back. Old habits died hard, but – he also felt like a cliff diver; taking the most insane chances, having the most insane sense of faith. When he grabbed his gift, he believed he would still find Chris in the dining room, waiting for him. With the present in one hand, he walked down the hallway, his hands skimming the walls - as if touch would ground him in this new reality; one where he might not be alone on Christmas, anymore.

Chris was leaning against the table, re-reading the notes. He looked up, and, yes – Chris was still smiling.

“This is yours.” Zach handed his obnoxiously-wrapped gift to Chris, who took it with surprise. (It was oddly shaped, after all.) Zach gestured for him to open it, and Chris delicately did – peeling tape from the edges, unfolding the wrapping paper until the album slid out into Chris’ open hand. The cover had an image of an aged map, and when Chris opened it, Zach saw his lips reading: _Star Trek Summer Press Tour 2009_.

Chris looked up, staring into his eyes. He hadn’t even seen page two, and Chris looked absolutely delighted.

“Zach – this – this is a _photo album_?”

Zach nodded. “Joe took photos throughout the tour.”

“Yeah – I remember!” Chris leaned against the table, and started flipping through the pages, his eyes growing wider with each page turned; small laughs punctuating his smile.

Zach stood next to him, reading over his shoulder. There were so many memories. The album had been fun to put together, and Chris seemed to look at _everything_ \- his fingertips touching the newspaper clippings, the menus, the embellishments. Australian currency glued beneath a picture of their hotel, a candy wrapper from Japan beneath a photo of them in a green room – both of them posing with Joe outside the Eiffel Tower in Paris.

When Chris finally closed the album, he looked over at Zach, and it wasn’t an expression he expected. A soft smile of course, but his eyes were soft, too.

“God Zach, _thank you_. It occurred to me _after_ the tour that I should’ve kept everything. There are... so many memories. Santa’s right – family is who you make it, and I gained so much the past two years. _All_ of you are family to me.” His smile grew bigger, and then he leaned forward for a quick kiss. “Thank you. You’re amazing, you know that?”

Zach licked his lips. “I should record that and keep it on a loop, for all the times you _won’t_ think I’m amazing.”

Chris shook his head slightly, as his mouth ghosted over Zach’s. “I _will_ get mad at you - ” kiss, “- and I’ll probably yell at you - ” kiss, “- and there will be times when we can’t stand each other -” kiss, “ - but you’ll _still_ be amazing. Because you are wonderful, and someone I love very, very much.”

Zach wondered if the human heart could combust from too much - _too much of this_ \- but he was kissing Chris again, deeper than before; his jaw caressed and the back of his head pulled forward. Chris _definitely_ liked his hair, while Zach liked his hands on the man’s hips.

It was all incredibly comfortable, like two shapes meant to slide next to each other and click. As the kiss lessened, Zach wondered if he could ever get tired of this – just kissing those lips, holding this man. Maybe he could wish for this day to last forever; the hidden romantic in him succumbing to romance instead of cynicism.

Chris pulled away again, and reached behind him for Zach’s gift – which looked similar to a CD case.

“My gift is really going to be lame – I’m sorry. I wasn’t sure what to get you.”

Zach gave Chris a look of _You’re an idiot if you think I won’t like this_ , as he delicately opened the packaging, and then slipped the CD case out into his palm. He righted the case with one hand, and stared at the cover: It was a collaged mismatch of maps, with words in permanent marker written across the top: _Scenes From a Star Trek Summer 2009_.

He looked inside, and on the CD itself was writing, but not of song names – no, it looked like there were handwritten lyrics, instead

He looked up at Chris, who shrugged.

“I was compiling a playlist during the tour. But when I got home and listened to it, I realized that... most of the songs were about moments I had with you.” A hand ruffled through blonde hair, and Chris dared to look sheepish. “So, I thought I’d give you a copy.”

Zach looked closer at the writing. “Will I know the songs?”

“Some,” Chris said. “They’re listed on the back cover, though.”

Zach flipped it over quickly – recognizing a few band names – but then turned it back to the CD, in order to stare at the handwriting. It was a tiny scrawl, not covering the entire disc, but Zach could make out the words – and his eyes turned the disc case around and around in his hands, as he followed the track-listings down to the center; which was capped with a smiley face.

He looked up at Chris with a smile of his own. “I wanted to give you a mix CD, you know. This is – this is just awesome. I love music.” He stepped forward for a quick kiss. “Thank you.”

Chris smiled, but then held out one more package. Zach looked at it suspiciously – it was a small, rectangular box.

When he opened it, he had to laugh.

“I figured with setting your alarm to the radio yesterday, you probably smashed it, doused it, killed it with fire –“

Zach cut off Chris with his lips, his own hands in Chris’ hair, pulling him close. Both of them couldn’t seem to get enough of epic kissing, for they continued like that – despite Zach being able to hear Noah still chewing his rawhide, or Harold skidding back and forth across the house in a catnip high, or the cars and trucks speeding outside.

He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against Chris, trying to remember this moment. This moment, among so many of the last few days. He smiled – it had truly felt like Christmas, for once. In a way that he hadn’t felt since he was seven years old; with his father watching as he unwrapped a bicycle that last Christmas, and the way his father’s laughter had rang through the house at Zach’s excited reaction. It was a house that had been quiet and empty for so long, but now felt so inexplicably full, once again.

When he opened his eyes, Chris was looking into his, and Zach knew it really wasn’t inexplicable. Chris had always been his friend, and his family. But now, Zach realized that they had both found _home_.

“Merry Christmas, Zach,” Chris whispered.

The words were so sweet to his ears – Zach could feel the emotion of them vibrating in his head, echoing in his heart. He would keep them there, along with everything else he held dear.

Zach smiled. “Merry Christmas, Chris.”

And he really meant it, for the first time in years.


End file.
